Straw to Gold
by Blood Red Queen
Summary: Suddenly, floodgates opened in her mind, memories bright and fresh poured in on her, their colours no longer hazy and grey, but so vibrant they hurt. Voices she long thought figments of her shattered imagination filled her ears, loud and resonant. Oneshot


_I know, I know, I'm still pretty behind on my Sherlock story 'Make your move' but I couldn't pass up an opportunity to write this little oneshot when it settled into my brain. 'Once Upon a Time' had been added to my list of obsessions XD I totally love the RumplestiltskinxBelle ship, there's so much crazy ass emotions there it's untrue XD  
Enjoy Dearies x_

She stood barefoot on his bathroom tiles, staring at her own drained and haggard reflection. Less than twelve hours ago she had been dragged from that hellish white prison, dragged from the lies and isolation, from the pain and the cold. She had to admit she wasn't sure exactly what the hell was going on, especially since the man with a limp who had been present had such an icy poison in his expression. She'd been nervous, shivering at the thought that this complete stranger should look at her with hatred. However; something within her, buried deep under her disjointed spirit, recognised it wasn't aimed at her. Not that it made her feel any better though.

Her initial wariness had subsided somewhat when he had smiled at her. A real smile! Not that façade of a smile that _heartless bitch_ frequently displayed, but a genuine smile. One of warmth and kindness and protection.

A smile. _For her_.

A woman with blonde hair with a child had also been there, all looking at her with compassion she missed, a pity she loathed. They had helped the limping man get her out, supporting her faltering footsteps on the cold hospital floor. Once outside the limping man had put his own coat around her shivering shoulders, covering the bedraggled gown she had been wearing for God knows how long. Despite the man relying on his cane, he never let go of her hand. She couldn't remember having anyone clutch her hand like that, so she squeezed it back. Grabbing any sign of kindness she could whilst escaping her timeless hell.

He introduced himself as Mr Gold and left it at that. She didn't particularly mind the mystery, her brain was pretty messed up as it was. Every now and again she had the unshakeable feeling she had met him before, but she told herself she couldn't have. She had never met him before.

And yet…

His face, like a half formed memory, floated across her mind like a ghost. Words that made no sense and images that had no substance melted together in one big maelstrom. She was so confused. So she willed her 'insanity' down, concentrating on the possibilities in front of her. She entered his house without hesitation, answered his simple questions without fear, but inwardly wincing at how stupid she sounded.

_How long have you been there?_

_I don't know._

_Why did she put you away?_

_I don't know, she told me I'm mad. I must be, don't you think?_

_No, I don't. Do you remember where you home is?_

_No, I don't know where I am. I don't know what country—I don't even know what year it is!_

_Ok, I'm sorry. I know you're confused._

_Sorry._

_Don't apologise to me, never apologise to me. Do you understand?_

_I-er, yes._

_Good. I'm going to look after you now. What's your name?_

_I…I really don't know. They just call me Patient 703._

What happened next, she really couldn't recall. She just remembered feeling exhausted. Next thing she knew she awoke in a comfortable bed, Mr Gold leaning against the doorframe. It was night outside, she could tell by the, well, lack of light. A bedside lamp illuminating his stern face, he left silently, despite her half attempt at asking him…something.

He was distant, as if reluctant to actually look at her. It bothered her.

But she trusted him.

Now she was stood, alone in his bathroom. Her reflection didn't look like it belonged to her, she was pretty sure she had never looked so tired, so defeated. Her skin was pale, save for the dark circles below eyes that looked back hungrily, haunted by her own life that didn't seem to stretch beyond anything other than that tiny white room.

She leaned with her hands resting on the sink, her whole body tense, shivering slightly beneath her hated psych ward clothing. She hated what she saw. Glancing at her forearms, the vivid red needle marks where the drugs were pumped stood out starkly against thin pale skin. This wasn't _her_, but some miserable timid little thing. She could feel fire in herself, silently begging to see something of her soul in her own watery eyes.

Her hair fell in dark waves, cloaking her face and neck, falling onto her shoulders like dead weeds. She wanted to get rid of it but was never able to, since apparently the whole hospital building was scared to death she'd go on some psychotic rampage should she get her hands on anything sharp.

Fucking hypocrites.

Now her fingers rested on a pair of scissors Mr Gold kept in his bathroom cabinet, feeling the cold steel. Looking about her she felt freedom isolation had never given her before, freedom to do whatever she pleased, and have no-one watch her.

She redoubled her grip on the scissors, took one last look at her reflection and took a deep, shuddering breath.

_Snip._

A lock fell from the side of her face. Not much, but then, they weren't very big scissors. She continued hacking away, not bothering with any sort of style or technique. Dark curls fell around her, tickling when they brushed her skin, landing on the floor with soft thumps. She felt cool air on her neck and shoulders as it fell away. Still she attacked it with scissors, cutting away chunks with haphazard ferocity.

Her breathing became ragged and short as she paused and inspected the damage. What looked back at her seemed deranged and wild. But free.

'What are you doing?' came a soft voice behind her.

She spun round, nearly stabbing herself with shock. Her hands shook when she saw Mr Gold stood in the doorway, his cane supporting his weight.

She held the scissors close. 'How long have you been there?' she asked defensively.

Mr Gold tilted his head in a 'long enough' sort of way. She felt a little trickle of shame on her cheeks, knowing that this must make her look positively crazy. He looked at her expectantly, awaiting an answer as to why she was littering his bathroom floor with what now looked like a dead cat.

'I, er, I mean, I was-'she faltered, not sure how to explain her need to savagely cut her own hair. How could she say about the need to remove remnants of her time in the hospital, that she was destroying what seemed in her head like ghastly souvenirs of her prison?

'You've made quite a mess of your beautiful hair.' He chided lightly, crossing the bathroom and brushing off stray wisps from her shoulder. They both looked at her reflection; she noticed his expression was incredibly soft, unlike hers, which was hard and full of self-loathing.

She scoffed, 'That's not beautiful. There's nothing beautiful here.'

Mr Gold gave her a strange look, but she was too busy blinking back tears to acknowledge it. Slowly, she felt him take the scissors from her. With nothing to cling to, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to control her breathing. His other hand wrapped around her shoulders, steering her out of the bathroom.

'Come on, I'll sort it.'

She followed him into his lounge, feeling the warmth from a small log fire wash over her, raising goosebumps on her skin. Mr Gold indicated a cushioned footrest in on the floor.

'Sit down.' He said, she obeyed immediately.

He sank into the armchair behind her, leaning forward and pulling her backwards so as to better reach her. They sat in silence that was warm and companionable in a half confused, awkward way.

With a tenderness she had never really experienced before, she felt his fingers touch parts of her hair she hadn't completely hacked off, hold it gently as the blades cut through it and then brush it off her.

To pass the time she thought of the man currently salvaging what remained of her hair. The man, who had saved her, brought her from that horrible place to a place of warmth where he promised the _heartless bitch_ couldn't touch her. His dark eyes were always inscrutable; looking like he was all knowing and had a plan no-one could even pretend to understand. Those eyes were cold and calculating; only showing flashes of feeling when he thought she couldn't see. His face always seemingly set in stone, expressing no emotion…except when he was alone apparently. His voice was soft and had a lilting accent. Like hers, unique in that nobody else spoke like him. She remembered when he first helped her out, he had snapped at a passing doctor and his voice was frightening. But, with her, his whole demeanour changed, and his voice became impossibly gentle, a vocal caress.

'There we go.' He announced, making her jump. She raised trembling hands to explore the new style. It now fell to just below her ears, the edges soft and feathery, not the dry stuff she'd grown to hate.

'Thank you.' She smiled. 'I'm sorry about my, er, meltdown.'

'No matter.' He replied, the amusement tingeing the edges of his voice. She turned away and frowned slightly, the words unconsciously familiar. She couldn't help but think that she'd heard him say them before.

She repressed a not altogether unpleasant shudder and turned back to face him again. She shrugged, trying to make light of the matter.

'I'm surprised you could repair that, I didn't think there was any hope for wiry straw like that.'

His face spread into a joking grin, 'Maybe I can spin it into gold.'

The effect was electric.

She lost all breath from her lungs, all composure from her spine. She blinked rapidly, her mind going into freefall. She _knew_ that. There was no mistaking that. Faint memories entwined in her head, foggy and useless. She tried to grasp it, but it fled from her.

Mr Gold stood. 'Are you alright?'

She swayed slightly, taking a few steps backward when his arm stretched out to her.

'I'm crazy. I have to be!' she cried, clutching her head. 'I've heard that before. They told me I'm hallucinating. Maybe I am. Why else would she lock me away? I see things, I hear things, I _remember _things! Things I can't possibly remember!' She sounded hysterical now, voice cracking and high. Mr Gold looked alarmed now.

_That's it. Take the crazy person away. Lock her up, she's dangerous to society._

_Don't take me back to the madhouse. Please._

'What do you remember?' He asked, his voice contriving to be gentle and understanding but just sounded urgent. She closed her eyes, shaking her head at her own delusions. She didn't want Mr Gold to think she was mad. She just wanted a new life. A hope she could practically melting away as the seconds passed. Maybe she shouldn't tell him. She should just apologise, shut her mouth and leave.

But where would she go? And if he wouldn't listen, no-one ever would.

She regained some sort of control over herself. Looking anywhere except him, she heard herself ramble:

'I remember odd things. Things aren't connected; they're broken, like I can't remember them at all. Maybe I can't, but they feel real. But…' She broke off, unsure.

'Go on.' Mr Gold urged.

'I…I see a castle. Someone made a bargain. A large castle in the middle of nowhere. I had to go. I remember a spinning wheel. Straw and gold…..I remember…I remember a man.'

She looked up at him. There was no change in his expression, but his eyes blazed. She tried to recollect details of the man who haunted her subconscious, but all she could firmly think of what she felt for him.

'I loved him. I'm pretty sure I loved him, deep in my heart, my _soul_ I think he loved me…..' her eyes trailed to a cabinet, where, behind the dusty glass, a chipped teacup sat.

She rushed over towards it, ignoring his hurried steps following her. She stared feverishly at it. She _recognised_ it. She didn't know how, but she did.

'The cup…' She whispered hesitantly, her fingertips resting on the glass. 'I broke a cup. This cup.'

Suddenly, floodgates opened in her mind, memories bright and fresh poured in on her, their colours no longer hazy and grey, but so vibrant they hurt. Voices she long thought figments of her shattered imagination filled her ears, loud and resonant.

Overwhelmed, she cried out and nearly fell backwards. Mr Gold's arms were suddenly around her as she sank to the floor. He buckled with her, and they both fell in a graceless heap. She twisted her face to look at him. His face was so different, but it was _HIS _face! She'd know it anywhere. She'd follow it anywhere.

'Oh God it's you.' She breathed. His eyes widened in shock, happiness too intense for even another smile.

'What's your name?' He asked her again. She clutched at him just as he clung to her, frenzied and desperate, terrified to be separated again. She cast her mind back, claiming a name nobody had called her in years.

'Belle.' She answered, blinking away hot tears. 'My name is Belle.'

He let out a little gasp, his own eyes shining. She matched his smile, feeling the solid support of his embrace.

'And-and mine?' He pleaded, hands shaking. 'What's my name?'

She looked into his eyes, darker than they used to be. But they were his eyes nonetheless.

'Rumplestiltskin.' She said, throwing her arms around him once more.


End file.
